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A depressive episode
Is a terrible experience
But once you're through
All the chaos and despair
The aftermath can be
Even worse...

Every color fade
Like you're watching life
Through an analog filter
While everyday tasks
Seem like climbing
Mount Everest

But we keep going
We somehow accomplish
Our extraordinary ordinary
Invisible little struggles
Just to get through
Another day

And maybe that's enough
It's been 2 months since my last depressive episode...
 May 16
Traveler
An abundance of life
In a cycle of death
How much living
Could we have left?

An abundance of stars
Displayed in the sky
Endless pleasures
On a summer's night
Hear and see
Touch and feel
The reality of existence
Consume at will

An abundance of love
To plant in our graves
Pushing up daisies
I wish we could stay
......
Traveler Tim
 May 16
Stephen E Yocum
Where were these feelings of peace when
I was younger. Back when I overthought
everything and strove too hard for more
than merely enough.
Old man at 80, reflective thoughts,
that Peace even tranquilly resides
within us all, we must endeavor
to find it within us. Shiny objects
can be distractions to the things
that truly matter.
But try not to wait until you are
80 to find this out.
 May 9
Nylee
Sometimes I look in the mirror and cannot define myself
what are my morals, what are the rules to govern
I am in the peak of discern, noticeably keeping up with charade
I am yet to be sure, what is my role to begin with
who do I play today, the actor with grace
and imposter weighs, this place is a fantasy
I decay, in the body given to me, there is no gameplay
I live and believe, everything anyone says
 May 9
rick
“I look at you,” he told me, “and I think to myself; now here’s a guy whose got it all: he’s over fed, has a nice watch on his wrist and his shoes, although not my style, are brand new. The only thing he doesn’t have are troubles and worries.”

“bartender,” I shouted, “I’ll take one more and the tab.”

“hey man what about me,” he asked, “mind topping me off?”

“and another one for the poor sap next to me.”

“you see what I mean,” he continued. “you can afford to buy drinks for yourself and for others. as for myself, they forced me into a war I didn’t support and I also got my *** shot off for a cause unknown. I was stripped of my emotions, gutted from my life, they sodomized my psyche, carved the dream out of my head and I was never given a chance at having children or a future. and all this happened before I ever held a beer or tasted a cigarette or had a woman in my bed.”

I didn’t bother responding
in hopes that he’d get the hint
but as expected, he was as
clueless as my ex-wife
and as he carried on
with relentless persistency
each word dug in like a cat scratch
and all I could do was clench my glass tighter and tighter to contain myself.

“I’ve been spit on, kicked out, beat up and let down,” he further continued. “the streets are hard and unkind and everywhere you go you’re unwanted and everything is locked. why do you think I pour into these bars late at night? to drink? naw man, I just need a place to go, a roof over my head you know?”

that was it.
I had enough.

I finished my drink,
got off the stool
and headed toward the exit.

“hey buddy,” he shouted, “can I get another one for the road?”

“no.”

“just one more?”

“NO!” I screamed.

“c’mon man, you’ve got everything and I’ve got nothing. what makes you better than anyone else?”

“now look here you bumbling idiot…”

“but…but…but…” he interrupted.

“I’ve heard your tales of woe and now you’re going to listen to me,” I said sternly. “I look overfed because of poor diet and lack of exercise caused by working 60-80 hours a week with no time to take care of myself. I have a nice watch and new shoes but it came with a price. I’ve traded in my freedom for comfort, my time for materials and any chance of love for success. you say I have everything and you have nothing? I say you’re wrong. you’ve got something I no longer possess and that my friend is soul. don’t lose that. don’t buy into the mold. don’t conform. don’t become like everyone else. most of the people you see in here have imprisoned themselves into their own personal hell. that’s the way society wants it. but you’re free. truly free. and another thing… don’t worry about sorrow. everyone’s got problems and nobody wants to hear about it. why do you think people are in here? for the enjoyment? no, there here to forget. just. like. you.”

“******* *******! I don’t need a lecture from you or your cheap advice. all I need is a ******* drink!”

…and with that,
I walked out into the
dark and empty streets
where they greeted me
with their silence.
Happened a long time ago, in a bar, somewhere down in New Orleans.
 May 7
Daniel Tucker
Over the last four summers
I merely looked out of the
five bay windows of my
brown brick walled birdcage
where primordial shadows
meet and dance in the street performing rituals in the
warm, wild & windy midnight
air.

I was only
a lonely observer.

But late one night deep
in the heart of the fifth
summer, I sensed an
odd strength surging
through
my weakened wings--
equally born of physical
and emotional pain and
desperation.

I quietly opened the
door of my cage, glided
down the driveway and
onto the street below,
enticed by warm blustery
and liberating midnight
winds under the strange
glow of moonlight through

translucent
sunbaked
and
cracked
clay
clouds,

no longer just admiring
the view of the dancing
shadows on the asphalt
floor through
windows, but actually
feeling the shadows of
those living branches
and leaves dance with
my shadow and
caressing my

hair
face
arms
legs
mind
and
spirit

as I did a
low test flight with
them for
only about forty feet
over and along the
back street below.

I longed to continue
my solo night flight
like a bird through
the midnight air in
currents of streets
and hundreds of miles
of highway where my
baby and I could head
across the

Sea of Change
and of Destiny

where we could at last
be truly free in our
hearts, in our minds,
and also physically.

But like a well-trained
domesticated bird
I reluctantly returned
to the large cage of my
mind where I continue
to dream of being free--

my
gentle
companion
and
me.
PLEASE NOTE:

PHYSICAL AND SPIRITUAL REHABILITATION GREATLY
HELPS YOU APPRECIATE THE LITERAL AND METAPHORICAL BEAUTY OF THE SEASONS AND OF NIGHT AND DAY .
 May 6
Druzzayne Rika
Blind devotion, a dangerous guide,
While reason sleeps, and truths hide.
Did you see the fire ignite?
The darkness in eyes, extinguishing the light
what a day in a lost paradise
But it happens yet again.
 May 5
Daniel Tucker
When we first moved in,
The landowner said that
The old crabapple tree in
The yard hasn't yielded
Its fruit for many a year.

The executioner was going
To end its life, but we
Convinced the judge to
Grant a stay of execution
Regarding the beheading
So we could make a valiant
Effort at rehabilitating
The desolate old soul.

All because of a last minute
Reprieve, that unproductive
Tree has been rejuvenated
And regenerated; once
Again bearing fruit for
Many a year for us to eat
And share with others.
Metaphors for life & living it !!!

We all need to allow room for living to bring us a new lease on life, even if it seems unlikely.
 Apr 14
Aimée
They looked at me & saw too little,
Because I spoke with silence, not with sound,
They thought me weak, a quiet riddle,
But never saw the strength I'd found.
They whispered why I walked the room,
Gave sideways glances, crooked grins,
As if their noise could drown my bloom,
As if their pride erased my wins.
They called me less & laughed with ease,
Because I didn't fit their mold,
But I'm the calm within the breeze,
The ember that survives the cold.
I don't wear masks, don't chase their race,
I move with care, not false delight,
They mock the softness on my face,
But I was never made to fight
The way they do with egos blade,
I fight with truth, with heart, with grace.
I've been the scapegoat, overlooked
The girl they tried to twist & bend,
But every bruise they ever cooked,
Just made me truer in the end.
So let them talk & roll their eyes,
Let them brag and laugh and glare,
I'll stand beneath the judgement skies,
Still me, still rising, still rare.
Sometimes in life when you've just had enough
you gotta laugh 'till your ribs are painful but tough.
If somehow you can't laugh at yourself, the place you end up is tragically rough. Try to see some humor, because life is bizarre, and for mental health. How long can you keep holding on? Pride and grudges are poison, move on. Let go. Keep moving on, steady and slow, just let it go. The grudge is a con. Retain the memory for future reference if future judgement calls are needed. But by letting go, you only lose the pain, not the experience heeded.
🤷 eh...
 Mar 29
Nylee
My past won't protect me
My future is set to destroy me
what will I be doing now
smiling at the creations
is everything just decorations
it's all set up, and I keep my time
It's now what I do
It's in present how I be
don't fight, be at peace
I live and breathe the tranquil.
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